


Within A Forest Dark

by thateliz



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternative Character Interpretation, Gen, I suppose I should call this The Duckfather Trilogy, It's because of that blasted Sniper skin, Organised Crime AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 19:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16793038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thateliz/pseuds/thateliz
Summary: Sometimes the shot is clearer without the scope. Peking and his entourage hunt down the quarry that eluded them for so long.





	Within A Forest Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Because I survived the cardiac arrest that Peking’s sniper skin had given me, this happened. I’m so sorry everyone. 
> 
> Please take note of the rating. This is a Sniper/Mobster/Crime AU so there would be VIOLENCE and everything one should expect from the genre.

‘Welcome!’

The shop bell had the most delicate tinkle, a sound appreciated by both the clients and the shopkeepers. One would feel at ease inside the pawn shop, what with its rustic minimalist space filled with the scent of freshly-picked Buddha’s hand citrons. The gentle ticks and chimes of the antique mechanical clocks on display gave more auditory stimulation, easily making Pancake’s enthusiastic greetings ring true.

Pancake adjusted his tie. He stood behind the counter with a smile, his mind already forming words to cajole and wheedle.

‘So what can I do ya for?’

The client opened a small pouch filled with coins. Silver, with engravings on the obverse that looked too familiar to Pancake and gave him pause.

‘Got here some coins from an obscure country,’ the client said. ‘Can’t be used to buy stuff around here, but a few grams of silver has got to be worth something.’

Pancake picked up one coin, and the image on the reverse made his blood run cold.

‘This is… actually worth a lot,’ he said, throat dry.

‘Yeah? What can I get for it?’

‘The fairest price.’ Pancake dropped the coin back to the pouch, pushed off the counter and buried trembling hands on his pockets. ‘My friend can give us the numbers. Please have a seat while I get him for you.’

The door opened again, and in came two people.

‘Pancake!’ A young girl went straight to the counter. ‘We’ve got food! They’re all your favour—’ she noticed the client— ‘Eh? Is that Brother Li?’

Pancake saw how the client’s eyes widened in recognition.

‘L-little Niece?’

‘Yes, it’s me!’ The girl wasted no time and invaded the man’s personal space, and began to ask and share about what went on with their lives since the last time they’d seen each other.

The spectacled man who arrived with the girl listened to the chatter, taking the bag of coins Pancake had presented to him.

A beat of inspection passed.

The man closed the pouch, smiling.

‘Hawthorne, your friend is here as a client. You can catch up after our boring business talk is finished. Why don’t you join Pancake on his break?’

Pancake didn’t wait for Hawthorne to agree, grabbing the bags of food and her arm. ‘Let’s hurry, I’m starving.’

He made sure the door was locked as they left.

When the pawn shop reopened later in the afternoon, curious clients marvelled at how the stains on the ancient decorative truncheon looked new.

-<>-

‘Again.’

A push of a lever freed the chains from its tension. The living weight suspended in them plunged into a large metal tub filled with ice, face first.

The thrashing created tall splashes that rinsed the bloodied tiles and nearly emptied the tub, which quickly refilled itself from a hosepipe attached on its side.

Several seconds of pointless struggling later the lever was pulled back, and the sounds of grating metal masked the gasps and sobs coming from the trembling victim whose skin had already turned blue.

‘Let me warm you up.’ The lady interrogator lifted the man’s chin with her lit pipe, exhaling smoke on his face. ‘I’ve got new books to read, you know. And you’re keeping me away from them. So would you kindly save us both the pain and just tell me where your friends are?’

She received the same stammered reply for the third time. She tutted, and the chains loosened again.

‘Oh, now we’re both drenched.’ Annoyed, she moved away and took the chair beside her companion, who was flipping the levers at lazy intervals. ‘Plum, can we please switch back to coals? I’ve just bought these shoes and now they’re all wet.’

‘No. Burn marks are difficult to clean. Ashes everywhere, too.’

‘Fine. Then you go talk to our friend over there. I don’t want my pipe to get splashed on.’

‘As you wish.’ Plum stood up and scanned his shelves. ‘Have you taken my logbooks again?’

‘I’ll return them later, I promise.’

Plum sighed. His precious notes, lost in the chaos of Yuxiang’s library again. He grabbed a few bottles from his cupboard, and ice from his lab fridge to refill the tub.

Yuxiang pushed the lever, and their guest convulsed above the water, straining to draw in air to overtaxed lungs.

Plum mixed the contents of his bottles in a beaker, stirring carefully. The concoction foamed, vapours prickling the hands that carried it.

A few drops was enough to make their captive’s skin sizzle.

Plum waited for the howling to settle down before repeating the questions. But their hapless captive still refused to provide information, and continued to give inadequate answers even after emerging from the water for the tenth time.

Plum’s voice strained with what little remained of his patience. ‘Have you got any plans of telling us anything?’ The silence he received meant none. ‘Then speak nothing at all.’

He grabbed the chains, forcing the acidic liquid down the man’s throat.

‘Yuxiang, if you please.’ Their captive was plunged into the icy water again, drowning the screams. Plum sidestepped the splash, his lips curling at the sight of blood and dirt on his fingers.

‘Very loyal, isn’t he?’ Yuxiang said. ‘If I wasn’t so disgusted by their cause I’d be impressed with this devotion.’

The door slammed against the wall, bouncing back from the force.

‘Oy, Plum Juice!’ A brawny young man with an impressive mass of green hair rushed into the room. ‘Plum Juice! There’s someone asking for—oh hey, Yuxiang! You’re here too! What are you guys doing?’

‘Research.’ Yuxiang smiled, gesturing for him to sit beside her. ‘You want to help?’

‘Are you sure? I mean I want to, but I might make a mess again.’

‘You can start by giving these to Plum.’

Plum cleaned his hands with the proffered CHG cloths. ‘Why are you here, Bamboo Rice?’

‘Someone’s in the shop with this fancy watch so Pancake told me to find you ’cause he’s not sure how much the stuff was worth.’

‘Ah. Would you kindly stay with Yuxiang while I’m gone?’

‘Yeah, no problem! What do you need me to do?’ The lever was flipped again. Bamboo’s eyes widened, and without delay a sheathed machete was poking the brands on their captive’s skin. ‘Whoa! It’s alive!’

‘Oh? He’s tougher than expected.’ Yuxiang’s brows were raised. ‘So my stone should make me resilient too? How interesting.’

‘Hey, look! Look!’ Bamboo pointed at the screen above the shelves. ‘That guy over there owns the watch. And that lady sitting on your chair is a mean one, so beware of her.’

The CCTV cameras in the pawn shop also recorded how Pancake’s quick hands replaced a few stones with false ones, all under the pretence of appraisal.

Plum shook his head. They were not thieves. He only hoped Lord Peking wasn’t watching.

-<>-

Pancake was to join the table without eating – an apt punishment for the young glutton, who was slumped with his forehead on an empty plate.

‘Just one bite, boss,’ he said, voice muffled by the napkin. ‘Promise not to nick ’em gems again.’

The man seated on the head of the table was smiling. ‘It was your fault you’d got caught.’

‘But I hadn’t been? The old bat got both her bracelets intact. I mean, technically only Plum had seen me.’

‘Exactly.’

Yuxiang chuckled. ‘If _Plum_ can catch you then you’re not a very good thief.’

Plum wore a tiny frown. ‘His little tricks would certainly be discovered and the pawn shop will suffer. If that happens we’ll have to leave this town.’

‘I like the idea of moving.’ Yuxiang turned to the master of their home, ‘What do you think?’

‘I’m not averse to a new environment.’

‘Lord Peking, please,’ Plum implored. ‘We’re trying to avoid detection.’

He was ignored. Yuxiang said, ‘This town hasn’t got a decent bookshop. We could move somewhere with museums and libraries, like the city.’

‘Eh? City?’ Bamboo exclaimed with a mouthful of rice. ‘We’re moving? Where? Where are we going, milord?’

‘Depends on where Hawthorne’s friend lives.’ A hand reached to pat the head of said girl. ‘I’m sorry he didn’t show up for dinner.’

‘That’s okay. He looked like he was in a hurry.’

‘He left you a gift, actually.’ Peking unfolded a cloth embroidered with cherry blossoms. ‘Have a look.’

Plum stared at the ear cuff nestled on the silk. It looked newly polished, which was a good thing for an ornament that had been ripped from their captive’s ear.

Hawthorne was beaming. ‘Oh, it’s a lotus! Uncle Tie and his friends used to wear pretty things like this!’

After the meal that consisted of their cryptonyms and some steamed vegetables, tea was served. Pancake was tasked with the clean-up, still part of his punishment, while Hawthorne and Bamboo had been allowed to watch an impromptu lantern show in the town square, with specific instructions to return before midnight.

Three people remained on the cleared table with a pot of tea between them. Oolong, highly recommended by the tea merchant who had claimed that his blends had the best leaves to pair with a pipe, and had been supplying the pawn shop’s refreshments ever since his main business rival had disappeared without a word.

Peking tapped on the bowl of his pipe.

‘Have we enough coins for the ferryman?’

‘More than enough, my lord,’ Plum answered.

Yuxiang waved a hand. ‘We won’t need any, I’m sure. Zongzi would be honour-bound to provide transport.’

Peking raised a brow. ‘The righteous man of the river having such a name now… interesting.’

‘Isn’t it? He’d left the other side after Plum had cured his little wards.’

‘Ah, our good doctor answering his calling,’ Peking said. ‘Doesn’t look like he’s in a mood to heal now, though.’

‘Residual effect of doing the opposite for hours.’

Plum’s face was blank, proving Peking’s observation. ‘A fruitless and utterly pointless venture because it seemed my lord had already got the information he needed beforehand.’

Peking exhaled gently into the pipe, stoking the fire from within, sending a thin wisp of smoke to Plum’s direction.

The eye behind the monocle, the one unaffected by frequent involuntary closing, gleamed in amusement.

‘I thought you and Yuxiang were having fun. I hadn’t the heart to stop you.’ He produced the embroidered cloth from earlier and dropped it on the table. ‘Familiar?’

Plum examined the silk. ‘Cherry blossoms…’ His brows rose. ‘They’ve found refuge in Sakurajima? In that unwelcoming country?’

Yuxiang hummed against her pipe. ‘With all that gold they could offer… I wouldn’t be surprised if even the Honourable One would open his arms to a deadly cult.’

‘What say you to a vacation, Yuxiang?’ said Peking. ‘We’ll make it just in time for the cherry blossoms. And they have excellent bookshops in Shinohara, I’ve heard.’

‘Bookshops? Oh, you spoil me too much, how can I possibly decline?’

Plum cradled his head. ‘But my lord, going there without notice…’

One look silenced him.

Plum sighed. This was suicide. ‘I’ll inform Zongzi. Please excuse me.’

-<>-

It was late in the afternoon when the cuddy boat moored in the Port of Hilena, giving Peking and his entourage barely enough time to find accommodation and smart clothing in the Parisel fashion that was suitable for entry in the House of Satan.

The establishment operated as an outdoor coffee house in the day and a restaurant at night, and was ranked high enough to demand a dress code from its patrons. It was rumoured that the night bistro only had ten seats, of which their reservation required a year’s notice in advance.

That was what the host was explaining to a couple when Peking and his group entered the building.

‘Unfortunately,’ the tall host was saying, wearing an apologetic smile, ‘We are booked until the end of the season.’

Peking stood beside the well-dressed and bejewelled couple, both of whom gave him and his companions climbing looks that evaluated their worth. He merely gave them a smile and a polite nod.

The host turned to him. ‘Ah, good evening, sir.’

‘Evening…’ Peking glanced at the silver name tag on the host’s chest. _Cadbury_ , it said. The way the man’s blue eyes glittered as their gazes met merely confirmed their mutual amusement. ‘May we go in?’

‘Of course, sir.’ The dark-skinned host made a sweeping gesture to the door that separated the restaurant from the reception. ‘The decor has changed since your last visit, but you’ll find it very much the same.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘It’s a pleasure having you with us again, sir. Do enjoy your evening.’

‘Thank you.’ Peking stepped back, leaving the host to the complaints of the incredulous couple.

The door had no knobs, only a slot akin to a vending machine. Plum inserted three gold coins, and the door swung open.

They entered a hall full of people holding goblets of expensive drinks, some with cigarettes, some with both. There were more than ten tables, and despite the number of people the noise was kept to a tolerable volume, the only sounds louder than their chatter were the winding quarter-note melodies coming from a large Steinway in the farthest corner.

Peking sat two tables away from a woman in black with tattoos of wings on her back, and he took note of the gun holster on her thigh openly revealed by the tall split of her lace dress.

The woman noticed his group and raised her glass to them in greeting.

Yuxiang twirled her fur boa. ‘I’ll leave you gentlemen with your big, serious discussions. I’ll just be over there, having some girl talk with Black and Milk.’

Plum watched her leave. ‘Is that wise, my lord?’

‘We should let her have fun,’ Peking said, reaching for a piece of purple yam rose, his favourite snack, which was ready within a minute of them sitting down, served along with a plate of Plum’s preferred carrot bread and a bottle of vintage red wine. ‘She tolerates the company of two dull men everyday. It’s actually quite a wonder she hasn’t smothered us in our sleep yet.’

A few minutes later, Yuxiang and her friend went to the piano. The piece finished with a flourish and was met with soft applause. After a vague sign from the lady in black, slow jazz music started playing on the speakers.

Peking rose, intending to go there, but the pianoman approached their table instead, and Plum noted how odd it was for the smiling blond man to wear tinted tea-shades in the evening and in such dim lighting.

A plate of cheese toasty was set on the table as the man joined them.

‘When Napoleon mentioned an unfashionable little fishing boat in the pier, I could hardly believe it was yours.’

‘We were quite in a hurry.’ Peking said. ‘Plum’s dear friend is the only one who can accommodate us at such short notice.’

‘Oh! Forgive me, Plum Juice. I meant no offence to you and your friend.’

‘None taken, Mr Coffee.’

‘Please, let’s not be so formal.’ The man lifted his steaming cup, taking a sip of his namesake. ‘Sorry I can’t join you for drinks. I must keep my vision straight for the music tonight.’

‘I must commend your playing,’ Peking said. ‘I’ve heard nothing but accurate notes. No wonder the house is full; people know they would hear good music.’

Plum leaned back on his seat, uninterested. Good music, they said. If the stave meant five parallel queues of dead bodies while the notes were bullets, and the entire sheet indicated the treble and bass of weeping and lament come the morning, then indeed it was grand music to be played.

Perhaps he should use the time to relax while his lord exchanged pleasantries with the owner. It would take a bit of time for both to get on with their point, he was sure. Lord Peking had always been infuriatingly indirect, which he supposed in this instance would be wise; all knew that any conversation with Coffee – the demon overlord of the entire criminal underworld – should never be rushed.

‘What an honour to be complimented by the legendary Peking Duck, a brilliant musician himself.’ Coffee’s blue eyes shone behind the round frames. ‘I wonder how I’m to show my gratitude?’

‘You could introduce me to that lovely lady over there. I must confess I’ve been shamelessly ogling her since we arrived.’

Coffee turned around without an attempt to be subtle, his brows rising at Peking’s choice: a pale young woman clad in a light grey kimono with green accents and transparent silk.

‘Not to question your taste, but she’s… well, in all conscience, Vodka’s almost sister.’

‘Almost?’

‘Through a brother.’

‘Ah. I don’t believe I’ve met Vodka’s brother.’

Coffee gestured to the tables the Bratva occupied. In the centre of the group sat a man wearing dark, peculiar clothes and an eyepatch. The man noticed them watching him, and gave a small wave.

‘Goes by the name Caviar. Rather fitting for an exiled noble. Currently the Pakhan, their Krestniy Otets, the Slavic Godfather… only because Vodka prefers to drink all day than lead a bunch of tattooed muscle.’

‘He seems a pleasant sort,’ Peking said. ‘Not the type who’d take offence if I had a little talk with his lady.’

‘A talk. How the years have changed you,’ Coffee said, amused. ‘Seducing a Yakuza princess while her fiancé played cards on the next table? You will redefine bravery. What has Little White got that caught your attention, I wonder?’

‘I merely wanted to hear her describe the fleeting beauty of the cherry blossoms of her homeland. I’m but a foreigner who fails to understand.’

Coffee leaned back, swatting away the smoke.

‘Ah, I’m sorry,’ said Peking. ‘I forget you don’t like tobacco.’

‘Smell sticks to my clothes, never liked it,’ said Coffee. To Plum’s medically trained eye though it was obvious the man smoked something else, hence the shades. ‘And about your poetic musings on falling petals, well, my friend, Little White is not the right person to ask. She’d sooner tell you how to make charms out of pufferfish eyes.’

‘Perhaps I should ask her cousin instead.’

Coffee’s brow rose. ‘You sound determined. What brought on this fixation with blooming trees?’

One silver coin was placed before them on the table.

Coffee spoke after a beat. ‘Rather odd business venture to have, an international pest control service.’

‘Our friends in Sakurajima might not have experience in dealing with vermin of this kind. We do, so might as well share the knowledge. Demonstrate too, if allowed.’

Coffee took another bite of his cheesy bread. ‘I suppose I could inform the Oyabun about this… volunteer work of yours.’

Plum exhaled. The assurance that they would not be shot on sight was very welcome indeed.

‘But I can’t guarantee an invitation to the estate,’ Coffee continued. ‘The man is terribly antisocial.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ Peking said. ‘I hope he’ll make an exception, because Yuxiang would love to see their historical home and Roshomon’s famous libraries.’

Before Coffee could reply, an amused feminine voice cut in, ‘The libraries? Oh, trust me, they’re full of rubbish.’

The lady they were previously discussing was suddenly standing before their table, smiling. Peking had to commend her; he hadn’t noticed her approach.

She moved fluidly, taking a seat between him and Plum, invading the latter’s personal space. ‘My, you are rather handsome. I wouldn’t mind bringing you to my library for a quick study.’

Plum straightened in his chair, eyes wary, cheeks slightly red.

‘Don’t tease the poor doctor, my dear,’ Coffee said. ‘You’re making him uncomfortable.’

‘A doctor? How dull.’ But she didn’t move from her position. ‘So that means you know a lot about anatomy.’

‘About taking them apart, yes,’ Plum said, recovered from the shock of her forwardness. ‘I’m a surgeon.’

Her mouth uncurled into a slow smile. ‘Hmm. A strong stomach, then. You will do.’

Plum frowned. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I understand—’

‘May I have him, Lucifer?’

‘How rude of you,’ Coffee said, amused. ‘The doctor is not my property.’

She glanced at Peking. ‘He’s yours, then?’

‘My family’s doctor and a good friend.’

‘He’s a guest, Little White,’ Coffee said. ‘Please don’t annoy him too much.’

‘A guest, huh? That means he can freely decline? Shame, I thought he was someone’s pet. A man this pretty is usually some lord’s bitch.’

Plum’s frown deepened.

‘Oh, doctor, you should be careful with those baby blues, I might mistake your anger for invitation.’ The lady was chortling. ‘But where have my manners gone. I’m Little White of House Wisteria. Or if you prefer the ridiculous food codename that everyone in here uses, mine is Milt. So, who are you two?’

The look Plum received from his lord made him sigh. ‘I’m called Plum Juice.’

‘Ooh, thirst-quenching, fits you well. How about you, Dr Plum’s friend, who are you?’

Peking smiled, genuinely amused. ‘Peking Duck, my lady.’

Her eyes lit up. ‘The Light Kingdom Phoenix! You’re a legend, dear man. Oh, the stories I’ve heard…’

‘All bad, I hope.’

‘And all true,’ Coffee said.

‘But why are you going to Sakurajima, of all places?’ Milt tilted her head at Coffee. ‘Has my cousin finally exhausted your patience, Lucifer? You’re sending the Duck to kill him?’

Plum tensed upon noticing the looks from the suddenly silent group of slick-haired Sakurajima men three tables away. He glanced at his lord; this woman’s mouth would get them killed before they even left Gloriville.

Coffee waved a hand. ‘Nonsense. I like your cousin, and so does everyone, you know that.’

‘Urgh, don’t remind me. Still, why Sakurajima?’

‘Peking’s family wants to see the cherry blossoms, and I’m merely helping with their itinerary.’

Milt gave a long hum. ‘Not even the devil’s gift can ensure they’ll keep their heads, you know. Not in a country full of nutters. So why would you let them die there? We’ve just met, and I haven’t heard all of his stories yet!’

Her petulance never failed to entertain the self-professed devil. ‘It’s not our business to tell Peking where to spend his holiday, my dear.’

‘But my cousin might have this idea of feeding the cats some exotic Light Kingdom roast,’ Milt said, voice dripping with playful malice. ‘Are you sure you want to go, Mr Duck?’

‘Perhaps my lady could inform her cousin that our dishes can be poisonous if not prepared correctly?’

‘I could, but unfortunately I’m too busy for phone calls. And my ridiculous cousin is very old fashioned. He prefers letters! Too much work.’ Milt then leaned forward, chin on one palm. ‘But I might change my mind if our dear doctor would attempt to persuade me.’

Plum didn’t bother to react.

-<>-

The Yoseta Designer Studio was the youngest but most beloved fashion house in Gloriville, founded by two local siblings who learnt their skill of sewing from a young nun in their boarding school, which traditionally housed the daughters of the Parisel elite. The young ladies had willingly spent for and modelled their friends’ designs, and within a year the siblings were creating clothing for the mothers and aunts of high society and, inevitably, the criminal underworld.

Soon enough, the studio had started offering bespoke service for the men in power, mainly handled by the last addition to their house: a brilliant gentleman who specialised in clean lines and soft tailoring, and was currently levelling a tape measure across Peking’s shoulder blades.

‘See, you have become wider, Monsieur Peking,’ said the tailor, whose cryptonym was Toast. ‘We cannot use the measurements from your previous fitting.’

‘That’s all right. I’ve only come for button replacements and pressing, not for new suits.’

‘I’m not suggesting the alterations to your jackets just to be cheeky, monsieur. This is not even a skinny-fit, but your holster strains the back and shoulders. The seams might tear from too many rough movements. Not to mention this… tobacco pouch you insist on carrying.’

‘Let’s leave the jackets, then. I’ll be fine with just the vests.’

The blond tailor looked as though Peking had insulted him. ‘If I may make a suggestion?’

‘Go ahead.’

The taller man brought out a wheeled rack of overcoats and grabbed a dark Chesterfield that he eased over Peking’s holstered shoulders. ‘Right, please try reaching for your handgun—good, now roll your shoulders, elbows up—ah, yes, wonderful. It’s a bit loose on the cuff, but that can be easily fixed.’

Peking faced the oversized mirror, adjusting the leather straps of the left-hand draw holster that crossed his chest. The coat was a little heavy but it would serve him well in Sakurajima’s climate. It fell comfortably, no waist seams or front darts; and unlike the previous slim-fit jacket, the roomier Chesterfield coat allowed the handgun to rest on his rib without ruining the silhouette.

A deep pocket for his pipe was the only thing missing. ‘Excellent choice as always, Toast, thank you.’

‘Of course. I could not allow you to walk out of this studio without a jacket or a coat, looking like a barman. Mademoiselle Canelé might be a nun but she would never forgive me if I did.’

‘I prefer my robes, to be honest,’ Peking said, just to annoy the man.

‘Trust me, you don’t,’ Toast said. ‘Your country might have the most elegant clothing, but in your robes you will spend more time trying to find your gun in those layers than firing it.’

‘Good point.’ Peking smiled. ‘Now, I’d like to have a few ties too, please. And some white shirts—’

‘ _Non_ ,’ Toast said. ‘Your vests and trousers are dark. New coats, also dark. White shirt? Glaring contrast? Absolutely not.’ The man produced a stack of coloured shirts already pre-altered for Peking’s size. ‘Ruby would match the brown, monsieur. Also, Mademoiselles Macaron and Crêpe have made these accessories for you as well.’

Peking humoured him. Red would be good for hiding bloodstains, he supposed.

-<>-

‘So, how was the date? For someone who left looking like he’s going to a funeral you seem enlivened now.’ Yuxiang’s eyes followed Plum as he crossed the suite they shared, loosening his tie before sitting on his bed. ‘And you’re _five_ hours late. Really, what happened?’

‘I’ve done a full body—’ an exaggerated gasp came from Yuxiang, and Plum ignored it— ‘MOT with Mr Caviar.’

‘What?’

‘Apparently their doctor had disappeared. Dead, hiding, they’re not sure. Have been for a month. It’s quite the concern because the Bratva, as I discovered, were a stubborn lot and would never have themselves treated unless it’s an ICU case.’

‘Typical Slavic hardiness. And then…?’ Her prodding was answered with silence. ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Plum. That confidentiality bit only applies to normal people. Tell me.’

‘Sorry, force of habit.’ Plum smiled. ‘Mr Caviar sustained injuries a few days ago, and has been walking around with a broken rib and a concussion. None of them thought it was serious until he started talking about parallel worlds and time gods. He remained untreated because they don’t trust doctors… well, the usual doctors, at least.’

‘That’s understandable. And how is he now?’

‘He’ll be fine. Thankfully they’ve got excellent medical equipment. I’ve done a cranial scan, found nothing unusual. Gave him some painkillers for his rib, and advised him to sleep upright and refrain from joining the lads in fighting and drinking for three to six weeks.’

‘I doubt he’ll do what you say. I’ve heard from Black that ever since Vodka gave him the reins he’d been madly devouring the other Organizatsiya.’

‘That’s up to him. If he aggravates his injuries that’s hardly our problem. I’ve done my part of the bargain, and we expect them to fulfil theirs.’

‘Oh, yes. A guarantee that we will not be turned into cat food.’ Yuxiang returned to her previous reclining position. ‘So she only wanted you for your medical expertise. You’re not disappointed?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Well, I am.’

Plum chuckled. ‘My opinion of her has changed, though. Her ways were a little absurd but it only showed what she’s willing to do for him, and I respect that.’

-<>-

‘My country is a hermit country full of mad people, so we don’t have airports. Also because airships are such noisy and dirty things they’re only going to clash with our aesthetics. It’s a national obsession, you know.’

Lady Milt walked in a lazy pace, leading Peking and his own entourage to a sparsely docked part of the pier, where most of the vessels were past the 30-metre range, had at least three decks and looked extremely, excessively lavish.

‘Now, foreigners are allowed only in the Eastern Port, which is stupid, but since you’re using my boat you’ll be free to dock wherever you want!’

They stopped at the end of the path, in front of a structure that was standing between land and water – a repair shelter.

The Bratva leader emerged from the entrance. Milt picked up her pace to greet him, and Peking noted how careful her hands were as she assessed him first before steering him towards them.

Yuxiang was smiling. ‘She’s taking your handling advice to heart, Plum. Look how adorable they are.’

Peking observed the yacht that was certainly Milt’s: a 50-metre aluminium beauty with clean lines and a hard-chine hull, its sleek profile emphasised by continuous, flush-mounted panes of seamless window sections. Compared to the gaudy vessels in this exclusive part of the marina, her yacht showed its luxury through minimalist sophistication, echoing her culture’s Zen tenet perfectly.

‘Hope you like my Shibumi, Mr Duck. She’s become too small for my needs.’ Milt nudged the man whose arm she was grasping. ‘Say something, Grey. They’re the doctor’s friends.’

‘Hello,’ Caviar said tonelessly. ‘My Osetra is faster. You should take her instead.’

‘What, that’s daft,’ Milt said. ‘How could you suggest such a thing? They have a lady with them. You can’t expect her to go inside an ugly submarine.’

‘With Osetra they will be undetected. Safe depth of 450m, armed with land-attack cruise missiles, anti-ship missiles, anti-submarine missiles, and Rim Hat ESM/ECM Snoop Pair Surface Search Radar—’

‘Grey, shut up.’ Milt pinched him on the arm. ‘And Mr Duck, how dare you look interested.’

‘I’ve never travelled underwater.’

‘Know what, I changed my mind. I’ll let my cousin’s minions turn you into a training dummy, I don’t care anymore.’

Peking chuckled. ‘I jest, my lady. I’m not so rude as to dismiss your hospitality, even for an impressive war machine.’

‘I don’t believe you. The tech has won you over, I know. You’re all stupid that way.’ Milt released Caviar’s arm, and grabbed Yuxiang’s instead. ‘Come on, Mr Duck’s lady, let’s leave these imbeciles to drool over their ugly sub.’

They watched the women leave.

‘You should go with White, Mr Peking Duck,’ Caviar said, voice flat. ‘But my offer stands, and I add something to it: you will own Osetra and other things you should want, if Dr Plum Juice would stay with me.’

Peking smiled. ‘That’s rather sudden. Please give him time to decide.’

‘Of course. Good day, Mr Peking Duck. You too, Doctor.’ Caviar did not wait for their response and walked back to the repair shelter, where the silhouette of a surfaced Yasen-class vessel could be seen.

Once Caviar was out of earshot Peking said, ‘I felt rather like a father negotiating a Pin Jin.’

Peking’s expression was of open mirth, his eyes presently not burdened by its usual affliction and were both anchored on the man beside him. That amber gaze would be pleasant to receive, rarely shaded as it was, if one was not the target of its amusement.

And Plum always was. ‘My lord, please.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll never undervalue my… _daughter_.’ Peking was visibly entertained by his own words. ‘You shall be worth more than a submarine. Come, let’s follow your aunt.’

Plum sighed. Yuxiang would never let him hear the end of it.

-<>-

The superyacht's upper deck flowed from a large dining terrace through to the sky lounge, featuring a central coffee table bordered by rotating white leather sofas, and Yuxiang did not hesitate to luxuriate in one.

She stretched, champagne flute in hand. ‘Oh, this is just wonderful, isn’t it? We could get used to this.’

‘Yeah, definitely the life,’ Pancake said from the other seat. He fussed with their equipment, assembling takedown rifles, organising magazines and taking note of every bullet. ‘But I don’t think the crew would be happy about that.’

He gestured to Hawthorne and Bamboo, both of whom have found another poor steward they could pester with endless questions.

Yuxiang laughed, and turned to Peking who was sitting beside her. ‘If the lady offers this yacht in exchange for your _daughter_ , please don’t think twice.’

‘Don’t let him hear you,’ Peking said, even though the doctor had already retired to one of the cabins, citing a need for rest, which was his polite way of telling them that he was rather fed up with them all. ‘Great work, by the way. Black Tea had given us enough hardware to arm an entire battalion.’

Yuxiang shrugged. ‘I merely told her that it would be nice for Satan House to have a branch in Sakurajima. Only a passing thought, because we all know that’s not even remotely possible. But I suppose your track record in… clearing lands had made them think in advance. Coffee’s sister was already planning the decor and I hadn’t the heart to tell them I was joking.’

It was Peking’s turn to smile. ‘You’re terrible.’

His hands were similarly busy with a case that contained his favourite tool: a custom rifle gifted to him by a friend, whose death had recreated cities and reforged domestic alliances. Every step of assembling the weapon was accompanied by memories, from how the folding stock had once bit on his friend’s finger, to how the cheekpiece had needed constant adjustments for them to manage a proper aim and had aggravated them to no end.

Halcyon days, which Peking tried his best not to remember whenever he gripped the trigger.

‘It’s been a while since I’ve seen that.’ Yuxiang reached for the suppressor. She attached it directly to the end of the barrel while Peking held the rifle steadily against his chest, their practised hands more efficient than any holding fixture. ‘Makes me feel younger.’

Peking lifted the unloaded rifle against his cheek, his body automatically recognising the familiar weight. He allowed her to play with the unattached scopes, as he had never really used it and preferred the iron sights, as scopes had a tendency to glare in the sunlight and reveal his position.

‘2.29 kilometres,’ Yuxiang said, looking at him through the scope with one eye closed. ‘Think you can break your own record?’

His 8.59mm bullets were heavier than the usual rounds, and less likely to be deflected over extremely long ranges; if 100 days in Palata’s harsh deserts allowed him 507 confirmed kills, what could Sakurajima’s clear days and thin air give him?

Peking’s eyes gleamed like freshly-solidified resin as he grinned at the thought. ‘I can’t be sure. I’ll depend on your observations as always.’

**Author's Note:**

> The Duckfather Trilogy Part 1! Damned Peking taking my Raindrop writing time again (and that Secret Santa exchange that I should have prioritised! And yes I'm still into food people in spite of ARK taking my usual FF playing time... )
> 
> Toast should have a French accent. We all know why. ;)
> 
> And yes, Satan House = The Continental.  
> Choco = Charon 
> 
> No more heart attack inducing character skins for now, please elex!


End file.
